As the Sun Sets
by WithDropsofJupiterInHerHair
Summary: Harry and Louis met in Uni and have been best friends since, maybe even more than friends. But lately, Louis' got a bird… Eleanor, in fact, and when she begins to move in over the holidays, Harry is forced to come to terms with quite a few things. Larry Stylinson.


**So, this appears to be the direction in which my life is taking me at the moment. I've recently become obsessed with this couple and, as strange as it is to write about real life people, there's something irresistible about this pairing. Anyway, this is my favorite thing that I've ever written- I used vaguely concealed aliases when I wrote this for my Creative Writing course, but I think the more professional criticism really helped me to make it something wonderful. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.**

* * *

I cringed at the taste- it was far different from the tea Louis and I drank. But she was here now, moving in over the winter holidays, and she had brought all her unnecessary changes with her. Like finally moving that awful ceramic duck from where it had spent two years perched in the corner of the kitchen.. Or the shoe rack that now replaced the haphazard pile of Vans and Toms. When I tried to help set up for dinner the night before, the dishes had been put away in the wrong cupboard and the cups were stacked upside down. A silver Volvo blocked my usual space in the car park and I'd been forced to find another spot along the street.

Even the smell was different- the usual musk of Yorkshire tea and Versache cologne overtaken by an unpleasant scent of honey and lilac, mixing with the scent of the pine emitting from the corner.

When I had asked what he'd wanted for his birthday the day before, he'd requested the most beautiful tree in all of London. After two hours of scouring all the local markets, I'd finally decided that a natural pine and a three story walk-up simply would not go well together. So I had made a run to the local Tesco, buying the largest plastic tree they had, along with potpourri pinecones and cotton snow. I'd set it up in the corner by the time he'd gotten home from work, having searched the storage room for the box labeled "Christmas". I'd had the ornaments strewn across the coffee table, ready to be hung. So we had spent the night hanging ornaments, untangling (and retangling) strings of lights, and eating sweet sugar candy canes from the tree- just Louis and I and El, _always El._ Because they were a thing now- an intangible, inseparable thing.

But that was yesterday and right now it was nine A.M., Christmas morning. And here I was, curled up on my best friend's sofa, because that's what we were- _friends_.

Sure, it wasn't anything unusual for us to do Christmas together- the downfall of living in the city: tickets home weren't cheap, especially for a kid fresh out of Uni, and parking and walking and just _being_ in the city was hell for our families. So it wasn't all that strange for us to be together on this day, too often with the smell of burning cookies wafting through the air, him freshly banned from touching the oven, singing nonsense Christmas carols with improvised lyrics. There was no pressure or need to define our friendship- just jokes and warm smiles and forehead kisses and time, _so much_ time.

But now he had _her_, since February of this year. Her and her long hair and dainty body and soft skin. He had her warmth at night and her grace in the morning and her constant presence throughout the two. He had long conversations in which every other subject could be traced back to her, as he would, and short pauses in speaking when he would punctuate the word with a chaste kiss pressed to her lips. He had breakfast in bed when he was ill and romantic nights out on the town when he was restless. He had _her._

And I had only a shred of hope that someday I would have the chance to love him better.

The sun was still getting higher, brilliant against the void winter sky. Another year was passing- I was another year older and colder. But I wouldn't be for longer.

His present laid wrapped beneath the tree, on the blanket of cotton snow, hers reluctantly placed beside it. And my present- my gift to myself- lay flat against the wooden table. _10:30._ A stream of sunlight illuminated the time on the ticket. When the sun set, it would find me home in Cheshire.


End file.
